


A Family is What You Make it

by wallhaditcoming



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallhaditcoming/pseuds/wallhaditcoming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier makes a discovery in his kitchen, and finds the family he always wanted an thought he could never have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Family is What You Make it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PragmaticHominid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/649563) by [PragmaticHominid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/pseuds/PragmaticHominid). 



Charles heard someone in the kitchen.  Not in the traditional sense; his room was much, much too far for that to be the case.  But suddenly there were thoughts in the kitchen where there had been none before, and it was enough to jerk him out of slumber.  He pushed the covers away and began to pad down the stairs, grabbing a baseball bat as an afterthought.  If it was a burglar, he wanted to be able to defend himself.  And a burglar was the most likely option – all the staff went home at night, and he didn’t think he’s ever seen his mother set foot in the kitchen.

He crept into the kitchen cautiously, bat held high above his head as he scanned the kitchen with his eyes, knowing that the thoughts that woke him were still there, for all that he was reluctant to reach out for them, unwilling to test his control.  It was all too easy to forget where he stopped and the other person started, and that was a dangerous position to be in at the best of times.  Facing down a burglar was not the best of times.  Still, he knew that they were there, and that was more than enough for him.

Charles froze in shock as the refrigerator door shut.  Standing in front of him, no longer obscured, was his mother.  Only it wasn’t his mother, because she was behaving all wrong.  And she was the spitting image of the picture of the two of them on the wall.  A touch to her mind verified what he had already suspected – this was an impostor.  He let his rage at that motivate him into speaking directly into her mind, burying his disappointment at the fact that it was not in fact his mother standing here, caring.

What the impostor did in response was the last thing he expected.  He watched in disbelieving wonder as her skin rippled and she slowly shrank, his mother’s pale skin changing into blue scales, blonde hair shifting to red, eyes turning yellow, and Charles stared on in wonder, a smile splitting his face so wide that his cheeks hurt.

“You’re not…scared of me?” she asked, her mind trepidatious as previous encounters filtered through her memory, but filled with a disbelieving hope.

“I always believed I couldn’t be the only one in the world.  The only person who was…different.  And here you are,” Charles said, on the verge of tears at the sight before him, because it was one thing to believe you weren’t the only one, and another thing entirely to _know_ you were not alone.  Remembering his manners, he held out his hand, “Charles Xavier.”

She stared at him for a moment, clearly disbelieving.  But she slowly reached out and grabbed his hand, shaking it as if she wasn’t quite used to the action.  “Raven,” she offered in response.

Charles’ brain was awhirl with this new knowledge, sorting through possibilities but kept coming back around to the fact that he wasn’t alone.  Then he remembered what exactly it was that he had caught Raven doing, and looking at her too-small frame and skimming the surface of her thoughts, it was easy to know why.

“You’re hungry,” he said she nodded vigorously, “and alone,” he assumed before moving on to the important things, gesturing behind him.  “Take whatever you want.  We’ve got lots of food, you don’t have to steal.”

Her smile, blue skin making her white teeth shine all the brighter, was the most brilliant thing he had ever seen.  _She_ was the most brilliant thing he had ever seen.  And, well, it was terribly selfish of him, but he didn’t want to go back to being alone.  And surely it wasn’t that selfish if she was helped as well?  If she stayed, here, stayed with him, she’d never had to steal again.

But before he could extend the offer, there was a sudden popping noise and a mind where there had been no mind before.  Accompanied by a sudden rush of air, a gangly boy had appeared, hair jet black and skin bright red.  And Charles, once he had gotten over the shock of being truly surprised by someone’s appearance (usually their minds warned him far in advance), stared at him in shock before breaking into an even wider grin.

“Azazel,” Raven said, peaking out from behind the red mutant (there was nothing else the man could be), who had taken up a protective position in front of her as soon as he had seen that Raven was not alone in the room.  “Azazel this is Charles.  He’s like _us_ ,” she told him, hands wrapping around his arm as she peered up into his face.

Azazel, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Charles since he had appeared for all he had relaxed his violent stance, darted his gaze quickly down to Raven’s before turning back to Charles, one skeptical eyebrow rising.

_Hello_ , Charles spoke directly into his mind, not willing to trust his voice with tears of joy threatening to spill down his face.  _It’s so very nice to meet you.  To meet you both_.

A flash of remembrance cut through Azazel, images of the home where he had been raised before it in turn was razed, three triplets who had shared Charles’ ability, and a quick sense of wistfulness for the same sense of belonging he had once felt.

It was this flash that gave Charles the courage and carry on what he had been in the process of asking.

“I was just telling Raven that you should take what you need.  We have more than enough.  In fact…how would you like to stay?” he offered cautiously.

Raven’s eyes widened, and she darted a look upward at Azazel, beyond hopeful.  The taller, older boy considered him for a long moment before nodding his head once in agreement.

* * *

Charles didn’t sleep.  He couldn’t.  He was too afraid that when he woke up, he’d _wake up._ He’d discover that the whole thing was nothing more that a wishful dream.  So he sat on the armchair, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, staring at the red and blue figures tangled in his bedsheets and in each other, reaching out to both their minds just enough to establish that they were _there_ , that they were _real_ and hoped with everything he had, everything he was, that this was not a dream.

He wasn’t alone.  He wasn’t alone, and that was the most glorious feeling he had ever known.  They were right here in front of him and he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that it was real.

And yet there they were, curled together in the bed in front of him, and he still couldn't bring himself to believe it, couldn't bring himself to trust it, and so here he sat, curled in his armchair, staring at the red and blue figures on thr bed, unwilling to risk falling asleep.

It helped that he wasn't sure he could, even if he’d wanted to.  Their minds were unfamiliar, and Charles wasn't used to dealing with anyone else in the house other than his mother, and alcohol usually made her thoughts weak enough that it wasn't an issue for him.  But Raven and Azazel…their minds, they were bright.  Bright and beautiful, but also, as a result, loud and noticeable.  He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep with them around.

It made sense then, as loud as they were, as in touch with them as Charles was, the he knew the moment they began to dream.  Shields as weak against them as they were, he wasn’t surprised at all that Raven’s dream sucked him in the way it did.

She dreamt of her father, of a man who had almost killed her, who had used her and her abilities, the words “freak” and “meal ticket” echoing as blows strike her, remembrances of other violence upon discovery filtering in as well.  The hatred in their glances, the shock, the violence…it doesn’t surprise Charles.  Not at all.  He knew cruel thought that passed through a person’s head, he knew how little it could take to set people off against someone who was different.  So he wasn’t surprised, no.  Still, he scrambled for his control, found it eventually.  Used it to dispel her dream.  Raven had suffered enough.  He would do everything he could to protect her, even within her mind.

He was barely finished with Raven before Azazel’s own memories attacked him, and those…those were far, far less pleasant.  The feeling of belonging he had once had, only to have it ripped from him.  The soldiers he had thought were his comrades who had killed the one mutant he had been able to protect, and the blood that didn’t show on his skin as he gave into his training.

Charles brought his fingers to his temple and did what he had done before, pushing the dream away, watching with relief as both Azazel and Raven settled into dreamless sleep, for all that the splitting headache and sweaty palms made it clear he would have no chance to do the same.

Charles stared out at the sun starting to peek up over the horizon, and began to plot.

* * *

The next few days were amazing, and everything Charles had ever wanted.  Raven did impersonation after impersonation, Charles picked information out of their heads and projects his voice and images and anything they can think of while Azazel pops them back and forth, and it is wonderful.  No hiding, not here.  They can be themselves.

But Charles knew that the mansion wasn’t the real world, not really.  So he started trying to get Raven to hold her form longer, started working with her to build a mask she can wear from day to day.  He begged Azazel for rides, encouraging him to take him father and farther distances.  All while Charles himself practiced projecting a human skin over the boy he already thought of as his brother.

Because Charles loved them as they were, but he’d been in enough heads, seen through enough eyes to know what would happen if the world were to see his siblings now.  They weren’t ready.  Maybe one day, and Charles would do everything he could to bring that day about sooner.  But for now, he would keep them safe.


End file.
